Making Memories
by LCFC
Summary: Sam's wall is down and he doesn't want to remember so Dean helps him to forget


Sometimes; when he lies between sleeping and wakefulness; Sam will remember.

His memories spiral; back beyond the wall coming down, back beyond hell and the pit, the torture and the pain and he remembers Stanford; he remembers early morning sunshine splattered orange against the worn old sofa that Jess insisted they buy, he remembers the smell of bacon and coffee and he remembers feeling safe, being home.

Nightmares even then; worse when Jess burnt on the ceiling. He can still see Dean's face as he turned to look at him, see the look of concern in those bright green eyes. Sam claimed – with some wry humour – that he dreamed of candy-canes but Dean didn't ever believe him.

His mind reaches back over the years; sees Madison with the red stain of blood blossoming across her shirt – his shirt really – gratitude in her eyes. Sees the demon fall when Dean unleashes the colt on him, sees the guilt behind Dean's gaze as he confesses how long he has to live, feels the tears wet and hot on his cheek.

The little girl that Lilith possessed scampers across his mind and he – resolutely – pushes her away. Ruby, blonde and sassy, eyes rolling white. Dean is dead at his feet as he screams and he knows he doesn't want this particular memory, painful and tortuous, worse in its way than Lucifer's cage and everything that he lost there.

Recollections of terrible times; fighting with his big brother, laying down with Ruby in her new incarnation, thin and dark and sallow, mouth big on his, letting him bleed her, the sweet taste of hell in his mouth. The hallucinations in Bobby's panic room, the look of betrayal on Dean's face as they hit and rolled across the floor, glass breaking. Dean spitting hatred, Sam spitting blood. Horror as Lucifer rose, horror at discovering that he had been betrayed. The simpering victory on Ruby's face, the crackle of sulphur as Dean thrust the knife inside of her; guts spilling.

And then the worst memory of all; pitching forward into darkness; Lucifer screaming in his ears, his brother's battered face the last earthly thing he saw. Red heat and bitter pain; a soul without a body; not knowing if he would ever be free. Death's smile as he reached into the cage, pulling him out, grounding him. Waking up innocent as a child, no knowledge of what 'he' had done, his brother pulling him into that familiar embrace of leather and cologne, the scent of grease and minty toothpaste making him feel grounded, home again.

To find out what he had been doing to Dean – to Bobby – was like a nightmare too; his head hurts as he recalls it, mind working furiously as he rolls over onto his side and touches Dean's shoulder, touches him hard, then softer, just to make sure he is still there, still alive. Dean mumbles something under his breath, catches Sam's hand and holds it there tight across his heart.

"Stop," he shushes, "stop thinkin' – stop remembering."

"I can't," he knows he sounds wrecked, pathetic, "I tried but I can't."

"Sammy," Dean's voice, firm, stark, wakes him from his half sleep and he opens his eyes so that he can see the grey half-light of dawn seeping in through the billowing curtains, see the paisley wallpaper of their latest motel room, the flickering images on the TV in the corner and the bright green of his brother's eyes, "Sammy."

The wall is gone; all that went before is almost lost now, lost in hazy memories of hell and brimstone and torture. Lucifer laughs at him from the dark recesses of his mind, Michael scolds him like a naughty child, his stance haughtier, more righteous but just as painful. He feels as if he has been stretched beyond endurance, pulled and tugged, his limbs aching, his head buzzing with confusion. Returning to this earth soulless almost made his sacrifice worthless; he had still managed to hurt his brother, still managed to fuck things up and he wonders if this is all part of the torture, if he is still firmly entrenched in hell.

"No," and Dean is a mind reader; he keeps Sam's hand over his heart, rests his head on Sam's shoulder and kisses him; it isn't sexual, hasn't been for some time, but it still mean something and Sam feels it, feels the love, the tenderness, the constant worry, "you are here now Sammy, you are here and safe and I'm gonna take care of you, we are gonna get through this, just like always."

Sam smiles; the warmth of sleep still pulling at him, making him realise his soul is still there, healing, slowly but surely, waiting to make new memories, things that will block out the torture, the hideous realisation, nice things, good things, simple things like perfect coffee and cream on his pie.

"Sleep Sammy."

Everything starts with his brother; everything – the one constant – begins here with the one person in his life that mattered, that has always mattered. He will make new memories with Dean.

"Sleep Sammy…"

And he does.

End


End file.
